Kit couldn’t remember the little sister’s name. It was a silly nickname, she thought, something that would be embarrassing once the kid was older. But she couldn’t bring it to mind.
“Can I hold the baby?” said the little sister eagerly. She was a cute little thing, stick thin, as if her wrists would not be equal to the weight of the baby.
“No, Muffin,” said Rowen sharply, “you can’t. You don’t know how to hold babies.”
Muffin. I knew it was something pathetic, thought Kit. “I haven’t had any practice at holding babies, either,” she told Muffin. “Today is my first day ever. Come on, between us we’ll figure out how you can hold the baby.”
Muffin sat down on the immense couch and eased herself back and back some more until her legs stuck straight out in front of her. She had plenty of lap now. Kit gently maneuvered the baby into Muffin’s arms, and Muffin sagged joyfully back on the couch and smiled down at him. Her smile transformed her. She was suddenly, beautifully, a mommy in training, like a Halloween costume.
Kit beamed at Muffin.
She had to have a photograph of this. She would make extra copies, because Row and Muffin’s mother would certainly want one. She found the camera she’d used to photograph Sam the Baby and Ed the Creepy Cousin and took two angles of Muffin and Sam. Then she took a photo of Row looking puzzled, and a final shot of Row looking irritated.
“Enough with the immortality, Kit. We came to collect you for movies,” said Rowen. “But I don’t think they’re newborn-rated.”
They all laughed.
“He seems really little,” Rowen said. Is he okay? Is he meant to be that small?” Rowen took the disposable camera from Kit, knelt next to his sister, and took a shot of Muffin’s cheek resting against Sam’s.
Kit loved how they were with each other. How sweet when a big brother was that fond of a little sister. Her throat choked up a little. Was she, at this very moment, a big sister?
“I don’t know, Rowen,” she said. “I was on my way home to wait for my mother to get back from shopping when you and Muffin came to the door. I figured I’d hand the baby to Mom, and she would know things like whether the baby is too small.”
Rowen stared at Kit. Really stared. “Who’s the mother of this baby, then?” Even his voice stared at her. “Whose baby is this? What’s going on?” He pulled back from Kit in every way, as if he did not know her after all.
Kit had been soothed by their company and the silly posing for photographs, but now she realized that Row was reacting the way he ought to — and she, Kit, had not reacted the way she should have. She’d let herself drift around, like Dusty, whose porch light was definitely not on.
A baby abandoned on the doorstep was not puzzling.
It was shocking.
Muffin was awestruck.
How incredible that this little soft folded-up thing with its little elbows and knees curled like bananas was a person! It seemed as if it might be something else entirely.
It had perfect, incredibly tiny fingers, with perfect tiny fingernails and perfect tiny knuckles. Its little sweet eyes tried to find hers but couldn’t, so Muffin shifted herself until she was in front of the eyes, and the baby smiled at her.
She feasted her eyes on the beautiful infant. Row and Kit were talking, but Muffin paid no attention; how could she think of anything except this baby? “What’s his name?” she interrupted them.
“I don’t know his name,” said Kit. “I made one up. I’m calling him Sam the Baby.”
Sam the Baby.
It sounded like one of Muffin’s favorite picture books from when she was very small, where they combined silly stories and counting and ridiculous made-up animals. Red fish, two fish, Sam wish, ham wich. “Hello, Sam the Baby,” she said very softly, and she put her lips on his cheek and it was the softest, most perfect thing she had ever touched and then she yelled, “Peeeee — you!”
“He does need his diaper changed,” agreed Kit. She was laughing. “I did just the same thing, Muff. I was thinking how sweet and adorable he was, and then I smelled him.”
“He doesn’t even notice,” said Muffin. “How can he live inside himself when he stinks like that?”
She helped Kit change the baby and this, too, was amazing, because the baby did not know that he was bare, and being held, and being washed, whereas if Muffin were being treated this way she would die of humiliation and hide under blankets.
He doesn’t know anything yet, thought Muffin, and this filled her with awe, and with kinship; as if Sam were her brother. There was so much Muffin didn’t know yet, either, and it tired her out, staring at the years of school in which she must learn, learn, learn; catch up, catch up, catch up; remember, remember, remember. And Sam didn’t even know that yet. He was just here, and now he didn’t smell anymore, and she loved him for knowing nothing.
Row said, in a heavy, almost angry voice that made Muffin watch him hard, “Kit. What is going on? Of course you know the baby’s real name. You’re his baby-sitter.”
“Or possibly his sister,” said Kit.
“You’re supposed to be sure of things like that.”
“It hasn’t been that kind of day,” said Kit, and she told them what had happened since three o’clock.
“It sounds like a typical Dusty screwup,” said Rowen at last. “I remember when your dad married her. No offense, but my parents said he was totally nuts and the marriage wouldn’t last half an hour. Dusty really and truly has a room temperature IQ. What do you bet that she went and had this baby, and then the day she came home from the hospital, she got kicked out of her apartment for some Dusty-type reason, like having friends over to line-dance at three in the morning when tired old ladies who need their sleep are living on the floor beneath her? So she drove over here to live.”
Kit thought about Rowen’s explanation. It was entirely possible that Dusty had come here to camp out.
“Why didn’t you just ask Dusty?” said Muffin. “I don’t think you handled this well, Kit. I think my mother would say that you —”
“Muff!” said Rowen.
“Dusty didn’t give me time,” said Kit, “but you’re right about what your mother would say. Probably the same thing my mother would say. But Dusty is the mother this time! It’s so like Dusty to be stupid, and drive around, and hurl her most precious possession into somebody else’s care while she races off with what nobody else would call a strategy.”
“He’s falling asleep,” whispered Muffin. “Stop talking.”
“I don’t think he’ll notice if we keep talking,” said Kit.
“Did you see his eyes close?” said Rowen. “They just clamped shut.”
They admired the baby for a while. Sleeping babies, Kit realized, were perfect, whereas waking babies had drawbacks.
“Maybe Dusty’s blackmailing your father,” said Rowen, because it is your father’s baby and she’s going to make him pay.”
Kit shook her head. “Blackmail is out. Dad’s a wonderful father and if he’s the father of this baby, he’d be a good one. But I’m sure he’s not. Dusty wanted to stay with him. If they were having a baby, she’d have told him in order to get him back, and it would have worked. So it isn’t blackmail and Sam isn’t his.”
She hadn’t stopped to think that of course Dusty would tell Dad; it was interesting how talking out loud was a way to hear yourself. She felt a pang of sorrow, though, because then Sam wasn’t hers, either. She imagined Sam growing up somewhere unknown to her, becoming a kid and a teenager and a man, and she would never know. She had only this afternoon. Suddenly, weirdly, she was grateful to Dusty for giving her this strange afternoon. Her only day with Sam the Baby.
“Kidnapping, then,” said Rowen.
“It wasn’t on NJN.”
“Dusty ordered them to keep it quiet or she wouldn’t give the baby back after they paid her the ransom.”
“Be real, Rowen. Dusty can’t plan a run to the grocery.”
“Stupid people commit
the most crimes,” said Rowen. “They don’t notice the pitfalls that smarter people would notice.”
“Row heard that on TV,” said Muffin. “He’s quoting a cop show.”
In Muffin’s arms, the baby had slumped into what looked like a very uncomfortable posture, but perhaps babies didn’t know about comfort yet. He had fallen into a sort of stupor, staring wide-eyed at nothing.
“So you have no idea what to do next?” asked Muffin. “I know, though. I always know what to do next. Listen to me. We’ll take him home with us. My mother loves babies.”
“Muff,” said Rowen — in the kind of voice that meant Shut up or I’ll squash you — and the phone rang again.
“This time,” said Kit, “it has to be Dusty. I’m counting on it to be Dusty.” She picked up the phone.
“But be more sensible,” said Rowen. “Don’t give anything away.”
So Kit said carefully, “Hello?”
“Hi, is this Kit Innes?” said a woman’s voice. It was a pleasant and friendly voice, but not familiar to Kit. Not Dad’s assistant, not his secretary, not his travel agent.
“Yes,” she said uncertainly.
Row stood up and came close to listen in on the phone. She held it a little away from her ear so he could follow the conversation.
But he was very close to her, and it distracted Kit. She thought of his shirt, and of Row under it; and she thought of how worried she had been about how to talk to him, but they had had the topic of the year, as it happened, and subjects were not going to be a problem. Her eyes met his and she felt a flutter intense enough that she had to turn her whole face away in order to hear the woman on the line.
“This is Cinda Chance,” said the woman. “I’m another cousin of Ed and Dusty’s. I am so relieved to have reached you, Kit. We are so desperately worried about both Dusty and the baby. I know you were shaken by Ed coming over, and I apologize for that. We’re at our wits’ end, you see. My husband, Burt, and I are adopting Dusty’s baby, you know, and we’re so excited, we’ve been waiting for years for this to happen, and now Dusty is worried about her decision, and we’re trying to be understanding, but Dusty just flew off in her car without anyplace to go. And that’s like Dusty, you know, that didn’t surprise us, but we’re so worried about the baby. Is the baby all right? That’s all that really matters right now.”
What a relief! What a sensible easy explanation. And how like Dusty. “Oh, Cinda, I am so glad you called. You almost missed me. I was just going home to ask my mother what to do.”
“No, don’t bring your parents into this,” said Cinda. “Really, we have it all under control. Is the baby all right?” Her voice was high and urgent.
“Oh, he’s fine,” Kit promised, “he’s just fine. I’ve fed him, and changed him, and we’re cuddling him on the couch, and he’s just fine. You’re going to love him. Have you met him yet?”
“We? Who’s we?” said Cinda.
Kit did not feel like long explanations. “Two of my friends are over here helping me with him,” said Kit.
Muffin beamed. Kit had won an admirer.
Cinda said, “Kit, I also have to apologize because Ed told me he scouted around the house and peered in windows and scared you. He shouldn’t have done that. It’s just that we were both coming apart, worrying if Dusty would take good care of the baby.”
They had been right to worry. Dusty had not taken care of the baby. She had not even told Kit how to take care of the baby before abandoning him. But Sam was not abandoned. He had a family waiting. Cousins. And they weren’t Ed, and they were nice.
“I just feel so much better hearing your voice,” said Kit. “You sound just right for a mother.”
Row muttered, “Not so fast, Kit. You don’t have any idea who that is. And she didn’t say whether she’d met the baby, she just wanted to know who’s here with you.”
Kit glared at him. “She’s just upset!” she hissed. “She’s had a terrible day of worry.” Rowen had no idea what it was like to wait for an adoption baby to arrive. Kit knew, because she had read lots of articles in women’s magazines and listened to several panels on talk shows. You and your husband had to go through examinations and inquisitions and inspections, and it took weeks and months to qualify for a baby, but then there was no baby available, and you had to wait and wait and wait and wait, and then when you found out there was going to be a baby, and it would be born in — say, September, like Sam — then you bought all the baby things, and told all your friends, and took time off from work, and practiced changing diapers — and the mother — say, Dusty — changed her mind.
No wonder Ed had been crazy! Kit would have run over a flower bed, too, if she had been waiting for Sam all her life and couldn’t find him, didn’t know if he was all right. Well, of course, it wasn’t Ed waiting for the baby, it was Cinda and Burt Chance. What nice names! The baby was going to be Sam Chance. No, that didn’t really work. She would have to ask what name the baby was really and truly going to have. Jonathan Chance. Alexander Chance. Michael William Chance. There were lots of wonderful possibilities.
“Kit, would you be a darling and bring the baby to us?” said Cinda. “Ed is driving everywhere he can think of to find the baby, hoping to find Dusty at one of her old haunts, and Burt is driving everywhere he can think of. I have to stay by the phone, and we so badly, badly want our baby here and we want him now.” Her voice broke with grief, and Kit’s heart exploded for her. Kit was the one cuddling and kissing this perfect little guy while his mommy, his mommy who had waited for years and years, was alone in the house with a phone!
Kit did have a driver’s license, and Dad had given her a car for her sixteenth birthday. It was in the garage at home. It was an ugly square Volvo. She hated the looks of it, but Dad felt she would be safer in it than any other vehicle. So she was safe, though totally not cool. On the other hand, it was probably the best car for hauling a baby in. And the car carrier was upstairs.
Rowen said very quietly, “You were afraid of Ed Bing.”
“Row, this is the baby’s mother.”
“No, she isn’t. She wants to be the baby’s mother.”
“But that’s wonderful, Row! She’s waiting for him! Do you see Dusty waiting for the baby? Cinda’s probably been choosing names for the whole nine months, and Dusty hasn’t even picked one out yet. A cousin is a just right person to adopt a baby.”
“I don’t see how being a cousin qualifies you for anything,” said Rowen. “You’ve never laid eyes on this Cinda. How do you know she’s a cousin? Just because she says so?”
It was true that Ed had come alone to the wedding. Kit could not remember other relatives on Dusty’s side. But who would claim to be related to Dusty unless they were? And it was a relief to know that Dusty could do something right: She could admit that her cousins would be better parents than she would. It was only natural to have a few worries at the last moment. If Dusty had been here at Dad’s house, Dusty would decide, but the day was ending, night was coming, and this baby needed a parent and one was on the phone. It sounded perfect to Kit.
“Let’s go ask your mother,” said Row in an interfering pushy way. “Or Shea’s mother. Or mine.”
She had been so glad to see Row, and now she was just irked. He was getting in the way. He was all inconvenient advice and obstruction.
“Or the police,” said Rowen.
Kit’s hand was over the phone to muffle their conversation. She glared at him.
“Do you think we should call 911?” said Muffin intently.
“No!” said Kit. “We are not facing an emergency. And I don’t want Dusty in trouble. I don’t want some social worker taking poor Sam the Baby and sticking him in a foster home for months until they decide what to do next. I want Sam the Baby to be home in his own crib tonight.”
Cinda said, “I’m sorry, Kit, I can’t quite hear what you’re saying. Please, Kit, please, I need your help and I need it now.”
“Ask her where Dusty is,” hiss
ed Rowen.
Muffin hissed right back, “Row!”
“They don’t know where Dusty is,” Kit told him irritably. “Yes, Cinda,” she said, “I can take the baby to your house.”
“Can I go, too?” cried Muffin. “I’m a great baby-sitter. I love Sam the Baby. I’ll come and I’ll help. You’ll need help.”
“Muff,” said Rowen.
But Kit said, “Yes, you can come. I’ll be glad to have the company, and if you’re in the backseat with him I won’t be looking back every second to see if he’s all right and then maybe having a fatal, Dusty-type accident when I’m not looking at the road.” Kit hoped Row would want to come, too. Or do the driving himself, in the car he handily had in the driveway.
The directions Cinda gave were long. Kit read them back into the phone to be sure she had the right turns and route numbers and landmarks, and Rowen said, “Those guys are seriously hiding from their fellow man.”
“Would you like to come, Row?” Kit asked nervously. She didn’t know how she felt toward Rowen right now. He was being a jerk, trying to make the decision about the baby, but she would certainly like to have his company. She felt muddled. It was as if Dusty had climbed into her brain.
“I don’t think you should do this,” said Rowen flatly, “and I don’t want to get mixed up in it.”
“So you won’t come?” Kit snapped.
“You shouldn’t go, either,” he said. “Just do me a favor. Just call your mother and ask what she thinks.”
But Mom wasn’t home. They’d have to wait for Mom to show up, and then Mom would come over, and they would have to discuss things, one of which would be: Why didn’t you tell me about this in the first place? Mom would insist on waiting for Dusty, and even more time would pass, and authorities would be brought in, and Dusty would be in trouble, because Dusty was always in trouble, and Dad would be crazed that he had to deal with her again, and he would stay on his coast and not come to Kit’s, and he’d hold Kit half responsible. And meanwhile, where would Sam the Baby sleep, and would Cinda and Burt, the cousins, be able to take him?
Kit wanted to drive in the driveway with the new baby and be the one to place the baby in its mother’s arms.